Reimagined
by Saxyad18
Summary: A multi-chapter extension of the last scene of the season 2 finale to answer the question we all have: what happens after those heart-wrenching last five seconds?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I know I should be working on my other fics, but I, like I imagine many of you, nearly lost my mind during the last scene of the finale of season 2. Since I apparently can't deal with the cliffhanger we got, I imagined up this piece today to fulfill my own need for closure and to provide an explanation that doesn't ruin what little progress FitzSimmons did manage to make last night.

* * *

Chapter 1

* * *

He tries not to lapse into the hand wringing that has become a very obvious nervous tick over the last year. The last thing he wants to do is call attention to what remains of his injury. He has made vast improvement in that time, but there are still days when it is blatantly obvious that he isn't the man he used to be. A few minutes into the attempted conversation, he realizes that his stuttering and stumbling over words is significantly more telling than any kind of fiddling he might do with his hands. She isn't even looking at him, and it's clear that he is starting to irritate her with his continued unsuccessful attempts to ask the question that has been burning in the back of his throat for days.

He and many of the other Shield agents who had been called into action had spent a few days on the carrier trying to sort out the damage the inhumans had wrought under the leadership of Jaiying. Thankfully, most of them had been cooperative once the truth about their leader had come to light, but there were still countless wounds to treat and systems to repair.

One he returned, he found her far too busy tending to Bobbi's many injuries to confront her about her parting words to him, and now that she has access to the Kree artifact she seems too enamored with her new project to focus on what he is trying to express.

"No. I don't," she responds to his latest attempt with exasperation. "You keep rambling on and on and I still don't know what you mean."

"Dinner," he begins, but he can't seem to get out any of the other words he wants to say. His nerves are getting the better of him.

"Fast approaching, yes," she agrees distractedly. "And we'll eat it, I'm sure." She is attempting to make sense of the readings their equipment is taking from the Kree artifact. She has a sinking feeling that they need to understand as much as they can about this object as soon as possible. Already deeply mistrustful of alien objects, she finds this one even more off-putting than usual and it's making her feel on edge.

Resolved not to be deterred either by his linguistic limitations or her apparent disinterest in anything to do with him, he presses on, stumbling to the point that it will be a miracle if she can understand what he is trying to ask: "Yeah, no, no, no. But, uh. Me _and_ you, maybe we could eat somewhere else, you know. Somewhere…nice."

He reaches up to fiddle with the edge of the container, desperate for something to do with his hands and body that don't add to the nervousness and insecurity clearly evident in his voice.

Upon hearing his stuttered question, she finally stops staring at the monitor to face him. At first, she simply looks, the weight and underlying meaning of the question completely eluding her comprehension. She nods slightly as she begins to understand his meaning. At least she hopes she understands it.

She thought he had no intention of having anything to do with her beyond their half-healed, purely platonic friendship. He'd found her attempt at a conversation about their feelings at least ill-timed if not completely unnecessary several days ago, and he hadn't made any attempt to restart that conversation despite her final words. She assumed that he was trying to let her down gently, but now she sees that he was just biding his time.

"Oh," she manages, at a complete loss for words in the face of the enormity of the opportunity he's presenting. Smiling slightly in case she has completely misread the situation, she searches his eyes to see if this is really what he wants or if he is just trying to be nice. The wary hope she sees is enough to convince her that he is willing to give her and them a chance. She is desperate not to mess it up this time, and a little giddy at the though of at least being able to make the attempt.

When he shifts a little and ends up losing his precarious balance on the edge of the container, the slight awkwardness of the moment breaks, and she can't help but smile, both at his bashful demeanor and the promise of the evening to come. Just when she had started to lose hope, he'd offered her exactly what she needed to believe in more, just as he had always done.

He finds her initial reaction a little underwhelming, but, as he rambles on, he sees a twinkle in he eyes and her smile deepen, like she knows what he meant to ask rather than what he did and she finds the thought very pleasing.

"Good, okay. Uh, well, you should come find me when you're finished here, and I'll start working on options to run by you…for that," he offers as he retreats out of the room. He's left the ball firmly in her court again, and now it's just a matter of waiting to see what she decides to do with it. He hopes it doesn't take her months or the possible demise of one of the colleagues to reach a decision this time. Still, the brightness in her eyes as he'd caught her gaze just before his departure and the words she spoke just before he left for the carrier give him more hope than he has ever had that he might be more to her as well.

* * *

The happiness buzzing inside of him gives him a kind of manic energy that makes him especially productive in the Garage. It's been months since he's been able to think with this kind of clarity or build with this level of precision. His hands hardly shake, but on the few occasions that they do he manages to avoid the feelings of frustration he usually wallows in during those moments because he's too excited about his evening plans.

Despite his efficiency, he does find his mind wandering more often as the hours wear on. He muses over where they might go, what they might eat, and what they might say. That last bit makes his stomach clinch uncomfortably. There are so many possible directions for the conversation to take, and he hopes that they'll both be satisfied and pleased by the end of it.

He is so caught up in his thoughts that he never notices when he really stops doing anything productive or how quickly the time has passed. When he finally shakes himself out of his trance and glances at the clock, he realizes that it's well past eight in the evening. She must have gotten caught up in her work as well, he thinks. It wouldn't be the first time they had both worked through dinner. Still in the back of his mind, he can't help but worry that she has changed hers in the last few hours.

He knows that he told her to find him, but he's too anxious to wait for her arrival, so he sets off to seek her out. Of course, the first place he looks is the storage room where they had placed the Kree artifact. He is a little surprised when he doesn't find her there and very surprised that she left before making sure the door on the container was closed, especially since she is always harping about safety protocols and procedures. At least it will give him something to tease her about at dinner.

* * *

He wanders around the base for the next twenty minutes, fully expecting to see her engaged in some conversation or pouring over some dataset on her tablet. The longer he searches, the more nervous and downtrodden he feels. She must have changed her mind, he decides. He must have misread her reaction earlier. Though clearly distressed by this latest rejection, he is determined that they will at least attempt to hash out their feelings tonight, whatever they may or may not be. Neither of them can keep going on as they are. It's too painful and awkward.

His feelings of disappointment begin to morph into fear when agent after agent admits that they haven't seen her for hours. Once he has repeated his question more than a dozen times, the fear turns into an icy ball in his stomach. He backtracks to the Garage and uses the holotable to pull up the security feed for the storage room. If he knows when she left, he'll at least have some kind of starting point.

He watches their conversation with a critical eye, thankful that he has left the sound off for now. He winces at his awkward posture and fumbling, but feels some of the dread disappear when he sees her smile genuinely after his departure. He hadn't misread her after all. She did want to see where this thing between them could go. His happiness is very short lived.

He swears his heart stops beating entirely from the moment she turns toward the container until the artifact reforms into a solid mass around her flailing limbs. At first, he can only stare at the unchanging image on the screen as the footage continues to play. He is in complete disbelief. What he saw didn't really happen. It couldn't have.

He jabs at the icon that will reverse the video and unmutes the sound. He hears their conversation and notices the faint noise of something unlatching and depressurizing as his hands slips off the container: something he had missed completely in the moment. He holds his breath as the rest of the conversation plays out. His eyes widen almost painfully when he notices that the door is ajar at nearly the same time she does—the door that his clumsiness had apparently unlatched.

He hears her murmur in irritation before gasping as the solid turned liquid erupts from the container. Her aborted scream for help rings in his ears and the sight of her clawing ineffectually at the ground feels like it has been burned permanently onto his retinas.

He allows himself one more moment to gape in horror as he replays the feed once more before he tears out of the Garage and sprints to the storage room. What little remained of his heart plummets when he remembers that he had walked into this room less than an hour ago and closed the door on what has become her prison without a single concern for her. His only thought was to tease her. In this moment, he feels sure that he will never laugh again.

Upon entering the room, he flings open the door to the container without any thought for his safety. He slams his hands against the stone repeatedly, calling her name frantically as if she might answer him. He continues his ineffective assault for several moments before crumpling to the ground and giving into the sobs that threaten to tear him apart.

She's gone and he's the one to blame. He is the reason that she has been sucked into some alien object. He won't give into the thoughts that she might be dead yet. He's seen too many alien items prevent people from dying or bring them back from certain death. For the sake of his own sanity, he has to believe that she is still alive and that there is a way to bring her back if he is smart enough to find it.

Forcefully stifling his sobs, he presses his palm one last time to the object that now seems like it has only ever been solid stone. He won't get anywhere by sitting here crying. Simmons needs him more than ever before. This is the damn Chitauri virus incident on steroids. He'd helped her solve the problem then, and he'll be the one to solve it now. Rushing back to the Garage, he pulls up the readings from the device and gets to work analyzing it's compounds and racking his brain for a solution to the problem. Every so often, he gazes around at his tools, attempting to discern which if any of them will help him bring her back.

* * *

A/N: I'll try to post the second chapter and third chapters later this week. I've already got them outlined and some of the dialogue written. I imagine what I am planning will be much nicer than what will happen in canon when the show returns in the fall, and I hope you enjoy this take on that last scene.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** In this chapter, we'll see Fitz's initial efforts and his first breakdown.

I'm absolutely overwhelmed by the response to this piece so far. I have read some really incredibly beautiful and well-written reaction/continuation fics over the last few days, and I can't tell you how happy it makes me that so many people are enjoying this one as well.

* * *

Chapter 2

* * *

Completely caught up in his need to rectify this wrong, he never even considers asking his teammates for help. He is far too focused on trying to make sense of the data on the pad and straining his brain to remember every detail of all the half forgotten conversations he has ever had about alien technology. His thoughts are a jumbled mess of half formed ideas and theoretical science.

The frantic speed at which he imagines, drafts, and discards ideas for her rescue leave his mind drained and barely functioning, but he manages to keep up the pace for several hours before succumbing to exhaustion. With his body precariously half perched on his lab stool and the table, he falls into a fitful sleep. His dreams cycle through every painful moment he has had with her, but the most recurring scene is the footage from today's security feed.

He calls out to her, willing her to turn away from the door, from her unimaginable prison. Every time, no matter how loud he screams or how hard he begs, the Kree artifacts flows over her body and cuts off her startled scream mid-word. The abrupt loss of her voice reminds him far too much of how she sounded at the bottom of the ocean.

* * *

He startles awake at the feeling of a phantom hand on his shoulder. Turning slowly, he sees her standing there, a bemused smile on her face, a twinkle in her eye, and that damned blue sweater. He might believe that she's real if not for that sweater, especially since her hair is still short, but he knows the truth.

Staring at her, he lets out a pained bark of laughter, though it's clear that he finds no amusement in this turn of events. He's lost her again, and his mind has decided that he still can't survive alone in her absence, so it's fallen back on the coping mechanism that got him through her months undercover at Hyrda. The figure standing before him is nothing more than hallucination-Simmons version 2.0—now with cropped hair.

When she moved forward as if to comfort him, his frustration at his inability to solve this problem and his irritation at her appearance boils over. He shies away from the contact violently, his abrupt and uncoordinated movement knocking over the stool. The crash echoes for a moment.

"Fitz?" he hears her question, and the sound of her voice, the one thing he would give anything to hear in reality one more time, drives him over the edge.

He narrows his eyes and snarls, "I've more important work to do than dealing with you."

He doesn't look back as he strides out of the room. He needs supplies from several of the other storage rooms if he is going to start testing some of his less ludicrous ideas. He won't give into seeking comfort from his hallucination, not when the real version of her needs his help. He won't fall into that trap again.

* * *

If anyone wonders about his scowl or near manic pace as he flits about the base, gathering technological odds and ends here and there, they don't confront him about it. When his arms are so overloaded that he can barely support the weight of his trove, he jogs back to the Garage, completely unaware that he is leaving a trail of items in his wake.

Skye doesn't notice the debris until she hears the crunch of something breaking as she walks toward Coulson's office. Her brow furrows as she picks up the now mangled resistor her boot has crushed. Peering down the hallway, she sees the light glinting off other objects littered across the floor. Feeling very much like a modern day Gretel, she follows the train of technological breadcrumbs, picking up the pieces as she goes.

She's amassed a rather impressive collection by the time the trail leads her to the Garage, where Fitz appears to be creating some new device. It's still too incomplete for her to even begin to guess what function it might have, but she tries anyway.

"Are you building me some sweet new tech?" she asks jovially.

He's been doing so well lately. Seeing him building something without dropping his tools or getting frustrated helps her remember that even the darkest of days can still give way to happy endings. A year ago, she never would have imagined him being capable of this kind of engineering again, and yet here he is.

When he speaks, it's barely more than a mumble, and he seems to be speaking to himself more than to her, but it's an emphatic statement in spite of the lack of volume.

"I've got to get her back!"

"Who?" she questions.

His mind is completely engrossed in the task at hand. She is a distraction he can't afford to have. He hopes that she'll take a hit and go if he refuses to answer her question, but she presses again.

"Who are you trying to get back, Fitz?"

"Simmons, of course," he replies, his exasperation with her abundantly clear.

Skye has to force back a chuckle. Her favorite engineer has apparently finally decided that he's avoided her favorite scientist long enough. She is enough of an adult not to jump up in down in excitement at what this might mean for her two teammates, but she does indulge herself a little with a tiny fist pump.

Fully onboard the FitzSimmons ship, she decides to throw him a bone: "I know you can create some freaking awesome tech, but I don't think you need to build her anything. She'll probably just be grateful if you'd talk to her for more than a few seconds at a time, though you might want to wait a while. She looked like she needed a good cry when I saw her a few minutes ago."

She then narrows her eyes at him. "Wait, you weren't the one who made her cry, were you?" she chastises lightly. It wouldn't be the first time in recent months his temper or harsh words had reduced her friend to tears.

Skye wishes their resident geniuses' skills still extended to interpersonal communication. Since their accident, she has never seen two people more inept at having a productive conversation. Watching them has been very painful.

Trying desperately to focus on what he's doing, he only half pays attention to her; he has long since learned how to tune out her rambling. Nevertheless, his overworked mind still manages to catch the gist of what she had said, and the device he has been working on so diligently clatters to the floor as he whirls around to face her properly.

His mouth is so dry that he has to swallow several times before he can croak out his incredulous question: "You could see her?"

Skye finds his question completely absurd, but Fitz looks so disturbed that she answers immediately anyway.

"Of course I could see her. She hasn't suddenly gain some kind of invisibility power, though that would be pretty sweet! Actually, she looked more like herself than she has since coming back from Hydra. She was even wearing something other than black. I can't remember the last time I saw her wear that blue sweater," she reveals.

"Just now?" The tone of his voice unnerves her.

He sounds like he is on the verge of a breakdown, and she can't understand where it's coming from. It's been more than a week since their epic showdown on the ship. If this is a reaction to what he went through then, its surprisingly delayed. Still, it seems as if his very sanity depends on her answer, so she responds quickly.

"Yes, Fitz. I saw her not two minutes before I ran into your mess in the hallway. She said she was going back to her room."

He sucks in one deep breath before sprinting out of the Garage toward the living quarters, praying that what Skye has just told him is the truth. Maybe he didn't lose her after all. Maybe the result of his clumsiness hasn't really imprisoned his best friend and maybe more than that in some freaky alien artifact.

"You're welcome, by the way," Skye yells after his retreating form as she dumps the pile of dropped pieces next to the mass he already has scattered about the table. She'll let Simmons sort out whatever problems he's having now and she'll check on him tomorrow. At the moment, there is nothing more she can do except replace his half-finished device on the table before resuming her walk to Coulson's office.

* * *

He slows his frantic pace when he nears her room, his heart feeling as if it will beat right out of his chest. It's eerily quiet when he reaches her door; the only sound is his ragged breaths, and it takes him a minute to even work up the courage to knock. The silence that greets him seems to confirm his worst fears, but he draws on every last reserve and turns the knob.

In that moment, he wonders if he has had a complete mental breakdown. He must have hallucinated Skye as well because Simmons's room is utterly, heartbreakingly empty.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hang with me on this one. Some of you may be able to guess where this is going; I freely admit this take is not that subtle. Others may still be wondering what on earth I have planned. Rest assured that nearly everything will get resolved in the next chapter. This is actually going to be more than 3 chapters in the end.

Earlier today, I decided I am going to take this in two different directions. Both will have the same first chapter. I'll finish out the first one probably sometime this week and then begin writing the other next week.

The first one, the one this chapter belongs to, will have a quicker resolution for the pair. It'll probably end up being 4 chapters long.

The second one is going to be a bit more complicated. It might have 5-7 chapters, and I think it'll be a little more in line with the kind of story arcs we're used to seeing on the show.

I'll post all the content for both stories in this one fic since they share the same first chapter, but I will update the chapter titles once I start writing the second one to keep everyone straight.

Anyway, I hope you are enjoying this perspective on what might have happened after the finale. I'm certainly enjoying exploring it.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This chapter explores some of the events from the first two from Simmons' perspective, but all is not yet resolved.

* * *

Chapter 3

* * *

He is about to fall to his knees when a familiar hand rests on his shoulder. She looks just about as shocked as he feels when he whirls around to face her. Grabbing her hand tightly in one of his, he feels the warmth of her skin, and it reignites the hope that her absence from the room has just extinguished.

"You're real." He croaks out, his eyes glued to her face, particularly her slightly red eyes.

"What? Fitz?" are the only words she manages to articulate before he pulls her forward into an almost painful embrace. She can feel him shaking, and before long a tear drops onto her neck. She holds him carefully, certain that this is not a moment to pull away to demand answers but completely baffled by his behavior.

"Fitz?" she tries again, "What on earth is going on?"

"You're real!" he nearly crows, finally looking at her again, a huge grin on his face even as tears continue to leak slowly down his cheeks. He is so relieved and happy that he leans down to kiss her before his brain even realizes that he's moved.

She freezes at first, his cold then hot attitude throwing her for a loop, but then she feels him start to hesitate in the kiss and pull away, so she joins in with perhaps more enthusiasm than she should, especially since she has no explanation for his behavior over the last hour and should probably demand one before willingly engaging in a nice snogging session.

They are both breathless by the time he does pull away. He continues holding her hand, though without the bone crushing grip of a few minutes earlier, and reaches up to cup her cheek with the other, needing the physical contact.

Then he frowns suddenly. All those months ago, he thought he had been touching her, too. He had been convinced that he could feel her hand on his shoulder. Maybe his mind has created an even more convincing hallucination this time. He has to know. He can't spend another few months thinking she's real when she isn't, so he turns and starts dragging her toward the common area, ignoring her protests, questions, and increasingly exasperated demands for answers.

* * *

In all of her daydreams, she never imagined being annoyed with him as he pulled her hand-in-hand down a hallway. She expected to feel giddy or maybe to be the one pulling him. Whatever this is, it isn't nearly as pleasant as her fantasies.

She gives up the attempt to make him explain himself after a few minutes. He's a man on a mission, and nothing she does at this moment will deter him. She's fairly certain that he will just pick her up and keep moving even if she sits down abruptly and refuses to walk, so she follows behind, allowing her mind to think through the events of the day to try to determine what has made him so agitated.

* * *

After he left the storage room, she had spent the rest of her afternoon studying the Kree artifact and trying not to get distracted by thoughts of him. Her work on the artifact had been fascinating but ultimately unproductive. She now has more questions than when she began, and she is no closer to answering any of them. So caught up in her work, she had lost track of time running tests on the object, nearly missing dinnertime.

She had wondered why he hadn't sought her out given how late it was, but she realized that her uninspired response to his invitation had probably left him feeling a little gun shy around her. Bucking up the courage she had just recently found when it came to him, she'd gone looking for him, hoping that he would still be willing to have dinner with her despite her misstep. Only hours into whatever this might be and she had already started making a mess of things.

When she walked into the Garage a little more than an hour ago, she'd had an apology on the tip of her tongue, but it had turned into a saccharine coo when she saw him fast asleep at the table he had claimed for his own. She had allowed herself a few moments to admire his peaceful face and toned arms before reaching out to shake him awake.

She had expected her touch might startle him, but his reaction was bewildering to say the least. He had looked at her first as if she were a ghost and then with clear contempt and annoyance. In that moment, she had felt even more dreadful for not being more enthusiastic earlier and for being late; she hadn't wanted to ruin this new chance with him, but he stormed out before she could try to explain herself. She had left a few minutes later, wondering if her latest mistake would be his final breaking point concerning her.

She had considered chasing after him, but she knew that he would need time to cool off before he would be willing to speak with her. Understanding perhaps for the first time how brutal the sting of rejection could be, she had begun wandering back to her room, completely unable to stem the tears brimming in her eyes. She was only about halfway back when she ran into Skye unexpectedly.

* * *

Simmons still felt edgy around the younger agent, not because of Skye or her powers, but because she no longer felt sure of her own motivations for helping her. Seeing what had become of Trip had been a turning point for Simmons, and she still isn't sure that it was an ultimately positive one.

When Skye had attempted to engage her in conversation in the hall, Simmons failed miserably, both because of her unease around her gifted teammate and due to her recent experience with Fitz. Too caught up in the jumbled mess of her feelings, she had brushed Skye off, being far brusquer than her usually impeccable sense of manners would allow. Gesturing weakly at her head, she had mumbled a halfway believable, halfway ridiculous excuse involving a headache, technological fatigue, and a need to return to her room.

Growing up in the foster care system had forced Skye to develop a deep understanding of non-verbal language. She learned quickly that what people didn't say was far more important than what they did in most cases. She had seen right through Simmons's poor attempt at deflecting her attention, but she also knew enough about the woman in front of her not to call her out. Simmons was amazingly composed most of the time. Even when a situation was incredibly dire, she managed to keep a level head and act logically, except of course when the situation involved Simmons herself or her feelings. In those cases, she reacted in one of two rather predictable ways. In the presence of others, she pulled back and hid behind a mask of icy efficiency. When she could be alone, she let out the emotions she tried so hard to pretend she didn't have.

In the hallway, Skye had seen almost immediately that what Simmons needed the most at that moment was to find a quiet corner and cry out whatever had upset her. She didn't think the scientist had had enough time to really let her emotions out in recent months, and she was probably long overdue for the release. Also, trying to make her talk about it would only make Simmons more miserable, and Skye hadn't wanted to add to her obvious distress, so she kindly waved her teammate back to her room.

* * *

Looking back on the moment now, Simmons can see that Skye had been unfailingly kind. She'd been on the verge of a breakdown and instead of demanding answers, as she knew the younger agent was apt to do in most circumstances, Skye had understood what she needed and given her the space to have it. Once she convinces Fitz to let her go, she plans to find her teammate and thank her for being exactly the kind of friend she needs. She has let her lingering feelings of guilt affect their friendship for far too long.

As Fitz skirts around the lab on his way to the common room, Simmons continues thinking through the events of the last hour, still no closer to an answer than before.

* * *

When she had reached her room, she'd hesitated. She could already feel the light make up she had applied in preparation for their evening gumming up her eyes, and she had known that her imminent tears would ruin the effort she'd made in a matter of minutes anyway. Deciding to cut her losses, she had set off for the bathroom to scrub her face clean. She'd rubbed the soft cloth across her face perhaps a little harder than necessary, particularly when she had caught sight of her reflection and dissolved into tears at the clear misery on her face. She had decided to linger in the bathroom until she was sure her tears were spent, at least for a while, before returning to her room. She didn't want to run into anyone else with her bruised heart on her sleeve for anyone to see. It had taken her far longer than she would care to admit to regain control over her emotions.

She had been surprised to see him standing at her door when she turned the corner. She hadn't called out to him, worried that she would startle him again, which might incite his anger just when his presence might mean there could still be hope for them. He wouldn't have sought her out if he hadn't wanted anything to do with her ever again, right? She hated immediately the way his shoulders dropped when he opened her door to find that she wasn't there, so she had done the first thing that came to mind and placed her hand on his shoulder to let him know that she was there in both the physical and emotional sense.

Even now, ten minutes later, she still can't make sense of his reaction to her touch in either instance. The first time, he'd been cold and borderline cruel. The second, he'd been thrilled and unexpectedly affectionate before his eyes had clouded over with insecurity and fear. She hopes that he'll explain himself when they finally reach whatever destination he has in mind.

* * *

When they enter the common area, her gaze looks as thunderous as his had earlier. While he's elated to see Hunter and Bobbi lounging on one of the couches, she doesn't share his enthusiasm. Bobbi had come through her remaining surgeries with flying colors and would now have to tackle the long road of recovery ahead of her.

Up until now, Simmons was elated that Hunter, Bobbi's now apparently on again paramour, would be a fixture at her side during the process. Now she can see that despite the good he does for her friend, she is going to have to watch her fellow countryman carefully. She had given them both specific instructions that morning that Bobbi was to remain in their cobbled together medical bay for at least another day before she would even consider releasing her. Apparently the couple had decided to ignore her orders anyway. Simmons mentally pencils in a lengthy meeting with the two of them to review, once again, the importance of following the advice of doctors who have very good reasons for keeping patients connected to monitoring equipment.

Focused on his mission, Fitz yanks Simmons with him as he strides right up to the couple. Without preamble, he earnestly demands, "You can see her, right?" while gesturing to Simmons with his other hand.

He's looking at Bobbi, mostly confident that woman who has little tolerance for nonsense will give him a straight answer, but it's Hunter who responds to his demand.

"See who?" he answers without hesitation, fixing Fitz with a look that clearly indicates that he questions his teammate's sanity.

* * *

I'm so sorry for the delay on this chapter. I had to take a last minute business trip this weekend, and I only got back late last night. I hope to have the final chapter of this story out to you by Saturday at the latest. Then, I'll start on the other direction we could go after the first chapter.

I hope you're enjoying it so far.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I apologize for taking so long to post this chapter. I was quite ill week before last, and work was a bit of a bear this past week. I hope you'll all forgive me for such a long delay, and enjoy this final chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

* * *

Upon hearing Hunter's question, Fitz's heart stops, and all the color drains from his face. What little air he might have had in his lungs whooshes out in an audible exhalation. He's on the verge of both physical and mental collapse. No amount of time will be sufficient to recover from this most recent blow.

"Oh, god," he manages to choke out, the torment in his words evident to each person in the room.

Hunter is a little childish—never one to pass up an opportunity to rib his teammates—but he isn't cruel and he would have understood his faux pas even without the weak jab to his stomach from Bobbi's elbow. As soon as he utters his careless response, he sees that what he meant as good-natured teasing has sparked an unimaginably painful reaction from his friend.

Bobbi, though on very good pain medication courtesy of her attending physician, remains the most observant person in the room. Mack had shared the details of Fitz's experience while she and Simmons had been at Hydra, so she immediately understands the cause for the underlying fear responsible for Fitz's actions and question.

"Hunter is just being an ass, Fitz" she assures him. "We can see Jemma. She's standing right beside you."

It comforts him slightly that Bobbi says Jemma's name even when he hasn't. Then again, he realized, Jemma probably would have been anyone's first guess. Worried that Bobbi is just placating him as his other teammates have done in the past, he asks her another question just to be sure: "What's she wearing?"

If Bobbi thinks the question is unnecessary, she masks it well, but it's Hunter who answers.

"She's got on a blue jumper and dark slacks, mate. I was just joking before. I swear I can see her." He understands that he has just nearly been the cause of a mental breakdown, and he will do anything to reassure his younger teammate.

"Okay. Great. Yeah." Fitz mutters in reply, his brain too busy coming down from overdrive to form words any more complicated than that.

For the second time in less than 15 minutes, Fitz feels his overwhelming sense of dread abate suddenly, but he has to take several deep breaths before he can turn to face Simmons. Their answers and the sight of Bobbi's injuries, which he can't imagine hallucinating, convince him that this is reality and Simmons really didn't get pulled into an alien artifact.

Simmons has stood quietly, alternating between sending soft, questioning looks at Fitz and irritated glares at Bobbi and Hunter. Even in this moment, Fitz still looks like he is in utter anguish, and, as irritated as she is with his recent behavior, she wants to banish whatever is hurting him. This time she is the one to reach out to cup his cheek, completely indifferent to the fact that they have an audience.

"Fitz?" she croons, "What is this all about? What's going on?"

His eyes flutter shut momentarily at the feeling of her hand on his face, and she feels the shudder that passes through his wiry frame. When he opens his eyes, she can tell that he is still troubled but there is a faint glimmer of hope and relief that hadn't been there before.

He pulls her to him again, burying his face in the side of her neck before whispering, "I'll explain; I promise. But back at yours or mine. Not here." The conversation they need to have is not one he can get through in the presence of others. He imagines that she would probably feel the same way if she weren't so confused.

Squeezing his shaking form to her one last time, she breaks the embrace, but she makes it a point to keep their fingers intertwined. She can tell that he needs the contact. She sends one final glare at Bobbi and Hunter, who have the sense to look abashed and apologetic, before pulling Fitz out of the room.

* * *

Their pace is far less hurried this time, but she finds herself standing in front of his door more quickly than she thought she would. Once they cross the threshold, she'll get the answers for which she's been desperate for more than an hour, but she's more than a little wary of what he might have to tell her.

He has calmed enough to sense her hesitation, so he takes the initiative to open the door and pull her inside. She's only been in this room a handful of times, but the random assortment of trinkets and photographs makes her feel at home immediately. His room, like hers, is more or less a shrine to their friendship over the years, and their synchronicity in that aspect helps to settle her.

When he tugs her over to the bed, she settles just across from him, their knees touching and their finger still linked. She's a little hesitant now that she has his undivided attention, but they've needed to sit down and talk with each other for months. All they've been doing since she returned from Hydra is talk at each other. Neither of them has been willing to listen to the other. That stops now.

"Fitz," she questions softly once they've both made themselves comfortable, "what happened today?"

At first he can't meet her eyes, still reeling from the events of last hour. When he finally does look at her, she can see that he can't quite believe that she's real. He has to swallow a few times before he can speak. He's afraid to share what he thinks happened. He hasn't spoken of it out loud, and he fears that when he does, it will become real.

"I must have been dreaming, but I swear, I thought that blasted Kree stone had trapped you, and I was trying to get you back, but I couldn't figure out how."

"How on earth could the stone have captured me? It's completely solid and encased in a protective container you designed." She finds his explanation puzzling to say the least.

He looks as if he is about to cry when he admits the next part: "It was my fault. When I was tripping over myself to ask you to dinner, I released one of the latches. I went back to find you when you didn't meet me in the Garage, but you were gone and no one had seen you, so I watched the security footage. I couldn't have been gone for a minute before you noticed the door was open, and, when you went to shut it, the stone turned to, well, liquid is the best word I have for it, and it pulled you in before it reformed. I watched the footage over and over again, seeing it take you and hearing you scream."

"Oh, Fitz," she consoles, very much aware of how it feels to believe that you are responsible for someone else's suffering.

"None of that happened. I promise. One of the latches _was_ open, but you implemented so many failsafe measures that the door was still secure. When I noticed it, I simply reengaged that latch and carried on with my analysis. Speaking of which, I'll need your help. I really can't get the readings I need without direct interaction with the stone…"

She trails off when she feels him stiffen, and she mentally curses herself for not being a bit more specific in her request. Clearly, the thought of her anywhere near the object is distressing to him.

"No, no," she hurries to assure, reaching out to grab his other hand as well. "I don't want to get any closer to it than I have to. There is something, I don't know, sinister about that stone. I was hoping we could modify one of the DWARFs or design something similar that we could send into the container with it."

Be breathes out an audible sigh of relief. As soon as she'd made the statement, all he could see was the stone pulling her in over and over again. He answers quickly, but she can still see the lingering terror in his eyes.

"Sure. We'll look at some specs tomorrow and figure out what will work best."

Squeezing his hands once more in unspoken thanks, she looks about the room for his pad, but she can't see it anywhere. She hopes that watching the real security footage, instead of remembering whatever he had dreamed, will convince him that nothing has happened to her.

"Fitz, where's your pad?" she finally ends up asking when she can't find it.

"Uh, I think it's back in the lab. Why?"

"I'll just go pop by my room and grab mine then," she responds, not answering his question. She leans forward to press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth before sliding from the bed. Perhaps it's a bit forward considering they aren't technically in a relationship yet, but she can't resist the temptation, especially after he'd kissed her so heartily earlier.

She pauses at the door, turning back to face him, "I'll be right back. Promise."

With that she flits into the hallway, hurrying to her room so that she can return to his as soon as possible. The distance isn't long, just a hallway and a half, but every second away from him feels wrong even if she knows that he'll likely feel better after watching the footage.

* * *

He starts to shake as soon as she is gone from his line of sight—his subconscious still partially convinced that she isn't real. He is so petrified that he can't even move. He just stares at the hallway through the open door.

She's gone less than a few minutes, and she's breathing a little harder than normal when she returns. As soon as she'd grabbed the pad, she'd run back through the corridor to his room, eager to return to him and sort everything out. She's dismayed to see his trembling form and the wary hope in his eyes when he sees her. The contrast makes her freeze for a moment, but the sight of his hand lifting and reaching for her spurs her back into motion.

Knowing knee to knee won't be enough this time, even if it is more appropriate for having a conversation, she pushes him until his back rests against the wall. When she has him just where she wants him, she crawls between his bent knees and curls up on his chest, her head pillowed between his shoulder and neck. She reaches out to grab his arm and tug it around her waist, resting hers on top.

Balancing the pad against his other knee, she attempts to cue up the security footage. She's unwilling to let go of his arm, but she really needs both hands. She only has to struggle a moment before he reaches out to steady the pad so that she can type and select unimpeded.

Making sure to start replaying the footage several minutes before he left the room, she winces a little at the terseness of her responses. She wonders why he even bothered asking her at all given her apparent disinterested attitude. She hadn't meant to be short, but she was too engrossed in her work to hear the kind of tone she was using. She resolves then to be a little more aware in the future.

Feeling him tense when their conversation draws to a close, she knows what he is expecting to see. The reality is far duller than what he had imagined. She continues puttering about the room, noting significant information on her pad with an absolutely foolish smile on her face.

Knowing that he needs the reassurance, she lets the footage continue to play even when she remembers what is coming. About five minutes after his departure, she'd looked back over to the door and let out a girlish squeal of excitement, her giddy anticipation for their evening overcoming her usual composure.

He can feel the heat of her blush when she presses her face into his neck and groans after seeing her childlike display. Finding her embarrassment utterly endearing, he pulls her a little closer and presses a kiss to her hair. She remains tucked up against him as he watches her walk about the room for a few more minutes. He's seen her do it thousands of times before, but the normalcy and predictability of her actions help to sooth away most of the tension in his form.

Unable to help himself, he also pulls up the feed for the Garage. Jemma seems content to rest against him without speaking for the moment. He sets the playback as fast as it will go; he doesn't need to see much, only his own entrances and exits from the lab, to satisfy his need for the truth and quell his apparently overactive imagination. After only a few hours of work, which takes less than 10 minutes to watch, he sees himself fall still, barely balancing on the chair as he slips easily into sleep. Based on the timestamp of the video, he'd fallen asleep much sooner than he realized. He'd never gone looking for her. He'd never seen the door to the container wide open or shut it. Never spoken to any one other than Skye. He'd never sobbed over the agonizing thought of losing her. Never drafted any plans. Everything he though that had happened between leaving to look for her and when she had startled him awake had never happened. He'd dreamed it all.

A few more minutes of watching shows her finally entering the room and their tense encounter. He pulls her a little closer, remembering the moment when he'd been so sure she wasn't real all because of a stupid dream. What happens next confirms what he already knows. He left the lab immediately after speaking to her and returned about thirty minutes later before working nearly that long until Skye came in and gave him reason to hope once more.

She understands why he needs to see this footage as well as what she showed him. Fitz has always preferred hard facts to conjecture, and he won't be easy again until he is sure of what is real and what is not. She feels completely relaxed, lounging in his arms this way, but there are still a few more questions she needs answered, and she imagines he might have a few of his own. Watching the recording of his time in the Garage brings her most pressing question back to the forefront of her mind.

Reluctantly, she extracts herself from her comfortable position and resumes their earlier pose. She takes a moment to stare into his eyes and enjoy the peace she now sees there before speaking.

"Earlier, why did you immediately assume I wasn't real?" she asks cautiously. She had hoped that the trust they had begun to reform in recent months would have made him more convinced of her permanence in his life, but that clearly isn't the case.

His smile drops instantly. "It's that damned sweater!" he cries accusingly while reaching out to clutch the material on her arm, scowling at the blue yarn.

She looks down in bewilderment before returning her gaze to his face, "Pardon?"

"She always had it on," he admits and then continues when he sees her face of confusion. "Other you. The one that my scrambled brain conjured up when you were gone. It's the same sweater you were wearing during that god-awful day with the Chitauri virus and the same one she always wore when she appeared."

She's horrified that something as simple as her choice of clothing is enough to make him question her existence. Not for the first time, she berates herself for leaving without telling him the truth. If she had, he never would have had a reason to wonder where she had gone or why.

"Fitz," she draws out his name. "It's not the same one. I promise. I don't even have that sweater anymore. The saltwater damaged it too much, and I wouldn't have wanted to keep it anyway. I don't like thinking about that day any more than you do."

When he looks closer, he realizes that she's right. This sweater is uncannily similar, but it isn't the same. It's a lighter shade, and the pattern at the cuffs and collar is different. In his manic state, he hadn't noticed those small details. He takes some comfort in knowing that Skye had thought it was the same as well, but he's startled out of his momentary lapse in concentration by her next words.

"It seemed like a such good idea at the time," he hears her admit. "Now, I wish I'd never worn it."

"Why did you? If your memories are as awful as mine, why would you buy and wear one so similar?"

She blushes again before answering, averting her eyes because she isn't sure how he'll react. "Blue is your favorite color, and I thought if I wore something like this you wouldn't immediately remember how much I've changed."

Now it's his turn to be embarrassed. He'd been so harsh with her, so quick to condemn her every action since her return, that he's made her even more self-conscious than usual. She is amazingly skilled and confident when it comes to her work in the lab, but he knows that she, like he, struggles with the more personal side of her life. Part of it has to do with their genius level intelligence—it's difficult to learn how to form meaningful and secure relationships when everyone looks at you as if you are a freak—and the other part is their dependence on each other for reassurance as a result. Before they became part of a field team, that dependence had made them unstoppable. More recently, however, it's been more of a dividing force than anything uniting them.

Throughout their time at the Academy and Sci-Ops, he'd been her sounding board for nearly every decision she'd made and she'd done the same for him. He'd been the one she'd talked to when she was unsure or needed another perspective, and his hurt over her leaving had caused him to spurn her when she probably needed him most. He remembers the harsh condemnation in his voice when he'd told her that her change was scarier than the changes in Skye and himself. In the months since it occurred, he hadn't given that conversation much more thought, but clearly she had.

"We've both changed," he offers as he reaches out to recapture her hand, "and I don't think we'll ever be who we were. I don't think we're meant to be. But maybe together we can get through it and come out alright in the end."

He's offering her so much more than what he's saying, and he hopes that she understands it. He's never been good with these kinds of words, even before the hypoxia affected his speech. When she gives him a hesitant smile, he knows that she does.

* * *

She wants to say something meaningful, but before she can their stomachs growl in tandem. Their eyes widen for a moment before they both break into helpless laughter. It's the most normal moment they've had in more than a year. What little tension had remained in the room bleeds out in an instant.

"I know it's late, but dinner?" she proposes with a bright grin, hopping off the bed and extending her hand for his.

He takes it gladly, already comfortable with this external sign of their affection for each other. Until recent months, they'd had very little in the way of personal space barriers when it came to each other, and he's happy to see that they're moving back to that place again without any of the awkwardness or fumbling he remembers from his few other relationships.

Even though it's well past dinnertime, there are a few agents milling about in the kitchen and pseudo dining area. With a single look, they reach an unspoken agreement that they will prepare their meal but return to his room to eat it. Poking through the refrigerator, she quickly assembles a few sandwiches as he finds some crisps and prepares their tea. Their movements are amazingly coordinated for two people who have spent remarkably little time together in the past year, but they are drawing on the muscle memory of all the years prior to that.

It comforts them both to know that they haven't lost all of the FitzSimmons of days past. To be sure, they are willing and perhaps even a little eager to see what their budding relationship will hold, but that doesn't mean that they want to start from scratch. Rather, they want to build on the strong parts of their foundation and shore up the rest, to hold fast to the positive parts of the past while embracing the promise of the future.

In fewer than fifteen minutes, they collect what they need to return to his room. The trip is quiet, neither feeling the need to break the silence with words. They eat side-by-side, stealing quick glances at each other between bites and sips, enjoying this meal perhaps more than any other they've ever shared. This is a turning point for them, and they both know it. They're both finally ready for it.

"You're more than that, too, you know. You always have been," she offers as she reclines against him again, both too full and content to do more than simply enjoy each other's presence. She knows that she was right in speaking the words when she feels him smile against her neck before pressing a quick kiss there.

There is still much to discuss, but they've each privately come to the realization that they don't have to hash all of it out tonight. In this moment, it is enough to know that they will proceed together through whatever life throws at them.

Before long they start to doze, the surges of emotion they've both experienced finally getting the best of them. Their reclined position isn't the most comfortable for sleeping, and she startles violently when her head beings to loll. Her sudden jerk is enough to pull them both out of their stupor.

"Mmmm," she mumbles, stretching a little before curling back into his embrace. "It's late. I should leave." She can't remember the last time she felt this peaceful, and she's reluctant to let go.

"Stay," he asks immediately, pulling her tighter. The slightly frantic pitch of his tone has her fully awake again and craning her neck to meet his eyes.

He averts them, a blush now staining his cheeks. "Just…would you stay? At least for tonight?" He knows he shouldn't pressure her to do anything she doesn't want to do, but he isn't sure that he'll be able to sleep without her. "I'm always a little foggy in the morning, you know, and I don't want to think I dreamed all this up, too."

Maybe they are moving too fast and maybe there are hundreds of conversations they need to have before they take this step, but in the moment, seeing the new bit of tension in his eyes, she can't bring herself to care.

"Of course," she soothes. "Of course, I'll stay, but I'm stealing your pajamas. These pants are too nice to sleep in."

The gentle teasing in her voice helps him unwind a little, and he gestures to the dresser shoved in the corner of the room to indicate that she should help herself. She doesn't move immediately, preferring to hug him close one more time before climbing out of the bed. Gratified to note that he still keeps his pajamas in the bottom drawer, she pulls out a set for each of them.

Tossing his to him, she sets hers on the end of the bed before bringing her hand to unbutton her slacks. The almost inaudible choking sound he makes causes her to pause. When she meets his gaze, they both flush noticeably and smile bashfully. When he stands and turns his back to her, she takes the hint and does the same, allowing herself a moment to think about the reason for their reactions and the promise of what might come.

Even as she feels her cheeks heat up again, she finds it endlessly amusing that they're acting like they've never changed in front of each other before. They've been friends for too many years, lived together too long, and had one too many minor accidents in the lab to have never seen each other in various states of undress. Nevertheless, it's as if they've only just become friends again as they quickly change into their pajamas.

She loves the feeling of the soft flannel of his bottoms and threadbare fabric of his shirt on her skin. Even if he has added some bulk to his frame in recent months, he's by no means brawny. Still, the pants and shirt hang off her frame comically.

She turns back seconds before he does and catches sight of the pale skin of his back as he tugs down his shirt. She nearly groans before she remembers that she can indulge her mental fantasies without feeling guilty anymore. He has nearly the same thought when the sight of her once again dressed in his clothing reignites feelings he's spent many years trying to suppress.

Content in the moment, she walks to the door to cut off the lights before joining him in bed. They expect to have to fumble with the placement of their limbs or the pillows like any other new couple, but they aren't like most. This isn't the first time they've shared a bed; it's just the first time that there is something more to it.

Completely unselfconsciously, they slot together as if two pieces of a whole. He rests on his back so that she can curl up next to him with her head pillowed on his chest and one leg thrown over his. He catches her fingers and brings them up to his mouth for a brief kiss before entwining them in his own and leaving them to rest just below his heart. He feels more than hears the soft sigh she releases at the gesture.

Before long, their eyes flutter shut and their breathing evens out. He falls asleep to the sound of her soft, steady breaths. She falls asleep to the rhythmic beat of his heart, which, she notices just as she finally loses consciousness, beats in sync with her own.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, that's the end of this version of the story. I hope you enjoyed it. I know it's rather fluffy there at the end, but FitzSimmons really could have used a little more fluff and a little less angst this season in my opinion.

I toyed with the idea of writing a second ending for this version of the story. It would have continued on where this one left off with a conversation between Skye and Coulson, who are looking at Fitz and Simmons as they lay in hospital beds next to each other. In that ending, Simmons really did get sucked into the stone. Unable to cope with her loss, Fitz had retreated into his mind (where he imagines all his interactions with Simmons post chapter 1). He is so far gone that he fails to take care of himself, eventually falling into a coma. The rest of the team does manage to get Simmons back after several weeks, but she is critically injured and they aren't sure if she'll make it. In the end, I decided just to let it end here because I'd like for them to have a happy reunion, which I know probably won't happen in the show, but a girl can dream, right?

Anyway, as promised, I have another fic in the works that has the same first chapter but takes the story in a completely different direction. I've already written the third chapter (which is what inspired me to even consider that second story line in the first place), and I'm working on the second chapter tonight. I might be able to post both later, but it may be a day or two before they are ready for public consumption.

I hope you'll all do me the honor of reading that one as well. Thank you again for sticking with me on this version. I am thankful for each of you who take the time to read my work, and I really appreciate the comments you have left.


	5. Announcement

**New Story Announcement**

First, I'd like to apologize since this isn't a chapter but rather the announcement of another story. Because I apparently have made it my mission to fill the void we have between the season 2 finale and the start of season 3, I've written another take on what might happen after that last scene.

Some of you might have been expecting the new story since I mentioned that I was planning to write it in an author's note for one of this story's chapters. I had originally intended to include it in this fic, with chapter titles designating which content was for each story, but it occurred to me that it might be rather confusing to do it that way. Since I did say at one point that they would be posted as one story, I wanted to write this announcement to let anyone who might want to know that I am going to post the second take as a separate story.

The new story, called Retrograde, begins with the same first chapter as this story. I was toying with two possible directions for Reimagined, and since I couldn't decide which one I liked better I just decided to write them both. In Retrograde, I explore what might happen if Jemma really is stuck in the Kree stone.

I hope you'll consider reading that story as well.


End file.
